"Prudence! Breakfast!"

Prudence opened her eyes, looking straight up at the ceiling. Sunlight was streaming in through her tiny window, and she heard the sound of her mother's pots clattering in the kitchen.

Another day, and all was the same.

Her eyes slid, as they had the morning before, and the morning before that, to the stain on the ceiling, in the bottom corner, shaped a bit like a pig.

"Prudence!"

She ignored her mother and turned over onto her side, squeezing the pillow between her arm and her cheek.

Three months. Three months since John stopped writing. Two months since she stopped trying.

Prudence heard footsteps treading up the old creaky stairs. She didn't move.

She would write him, often. Every week she would send a letter. He would answer just as quickly, for a while. Then, suddenly, with no explanation, letters stopped coming.

Prudence's mother walked into the room. Her footsteps stopped at the doorway.

"Prudence......"

She kept writing him, waiting for a response. But he wouldn't answer. So she eventually stopped.

"I'm not hungry," she whispered.

"Prudence, dear, you have to eat. This is unhealthy."

There was always one last sliver of hope, that maybe he would write back. But as every day passed, that little sliver was eaten away, piece by piece, until she had abandoned all notions of him returning a letter.

She would often wonder why he hadn't written back. Millions of possibilities floated around her mind, as she would stare at that pig-shaped stain on her ceiling.

Perhaps he had run out of stationery, and couldn't afford to get more.

Or he was too busy with his music.

Or too busy with girls.

Or alcohol, or drugs. Or both.

Maybe he had gotten in an accident.

Maybe he had died, and she just didn't know yet.

He could be homeless, bumming around Hamburg, trying to earn some money.

He could have run away, to France, Italy, India, Timbuktu.

Maybe he just forgot about her. Or maybe he was tired of her.

All these thoughts would grow, bigger and bigger, until they filled her mind and body. They became so big, so full of worry, that they popped, and as they deflated, so did Prudence. She stopped going out, with the exception of the art school, where she wouldn't talk to anyone. Eventually, she gave that up, too. She wouldn't meet up with friends. She would only lie in bed, rejecting everything and everyone that came near her.

She would just wake up, stare at that bleeding pig stain on her ceiling, and think of nothing.

"Prudence, please. Just one spoonful." A spoon of oatmeal was held out to her.

Prudence shut her eyes. That was enough. Her mother got up and slowly walked away.

Prudence could sense her mother's worry. She didn't care.

She waited until she heard her mother's footsteps downstairs in the kitchen. She turned over onto her back again, and stared at the pig on her ceiling. Soon the image began to waver with her tears. It faded away as she fell asleep.

{HEY GUYS I WROTE A CHAPTER

Okay so it is a little short, I apologize. I'm trying to set things up for later. I hope you didn't forget the events of the previous chapters. Some things are starting to be explained.

I got one thousand reads!! Thank you guys so much for reading my little story! (Even though it's like a million chapters long already)

PEACE AND LOVE L***}